Blog or Bathroom?

Labor Day weekend 2025 was the first weekend (holiday or otherwise) in several years where someone didn't have an emergency and/or I wasn't feeling well.

So I planned to rest and relax, catch up on BryonySeries copyediting, increase my walk time, finish Tuesday's blog that I drafted a while back, clean my bathroom, celebrate Bertrand's Back-to-School Birthday Bash on Saturday (followed by a marketing dinner), take Tiny to class on Sunday afternoon, and hang out with the kids, cats, and corgi.

First of all, I had a wonderful weekend and am looking forward to work today.

Second of all, the weekend veered a bit from those plans. 

* I did rest and relax.

* I did not catch up on BryonySeries copyediting (although I made a nice dent).

* I did increase my walk time (not as much as I'd hoped).

* The cats and corgi got plenty of additional snuggles and cuddles (although they always want more).

* Bertrand's Back-To-School Birthday Bash was the best yet (more about this on Thursday).

* The marketing dinner was pushed back to tonight because the venue we wished to support closed for the holiday weekend.

* Tiny was a solid B+ in class (he needs to work on distractions and "walking nicely" when walking with others).

* And I hung out with family (human and otherwise).

Here are the really lovely reasons why I didn't walk and copyedit as much as I'd hoped:

* On Saturday evening, Rebekah and I spontaneously dived into some deepish cleaning (the first time since before my surgery on July 17).

* On Sunday evening, Rebekah and I finished a K-drama we started earlier this year (we highly recommend this drama!) and then abandoned for time reasons a few months ago (I should also add that, except for binge-watching Bob's Burger's in those early post-recovery days when I faded in and out of a pain/pain killer haze, I haven't watched any television or movies).

* On Monday, Timothy and I (and then Rebekah and and then back to Timothy) finished setting up and trying out the new phone he bought me.

So by early Sunday evening, that left two items on the list: today's blog or cleaning my bathroom.

Now, I 'd cleaned the bathroom on July 16 (the day before surgery), assuming it would be a couple of weeks before I could tackle it again. How could I have known then that those two weeks would become six?

I couldn't put it off one more night (because the marketing dinner was rescheduled for tonight). Wednesday evening, maybe?

Except I had absolutely, no exceptions, promised myself this weekend was the weekend. I did not promise the same about the blog.

So I cleaned the bathroom, the first really major piece of housework since the surgery. It felt great to do "normal" things.

And I paired the cleaning with a call to my uncle, who lives in New York and whose call I'd misssed the previous night. And what a fun call it was! (as it always is). Although he is in his mid-80s and recently widowed (very unexpectedly) for the second time, he is full of proejcts and plans.

While I cleaned ansd scrubbed and swept, we discussed:

 * His upcoming solar installation and what he needs to get done of the roof to prpare for it (yes, he still gets up on the roof).

* The tree branches he still needs to cut before the weather changes (for himself and his son-in-law).

* The work bench he got back in order over the weekend.

* The health care and food industry

* What he likes to cook for himself (and how he's only gone out to eat twice this year).

* The honor of meeting his new neighbor's elderly mother - and how his ninety-pound dog has won over his dog-disliking neighbors.

* His model planes and how he's looking for a place to fly them. He had to leave some of those plans in Montana when he moved back East. That led to a discussion about this World War II veteran, including the replica of his plane, the museum that displayed my uncle's plane for a time, and how my uncle met (and was photographed with) this veteran. I also learned that when the veteran died, his co-pilot attencded the funeral at age one hundred, making him the only Doolittle Raider still alive.

* I learned how my father had done his thesis on maximum security prisons, which made sense to me since his own father worked as a prison guard (and we briefly revisted that portion of familiy history). I'm assuming that led to my father's work with the Illinois Department of Corrections - and I recalled hearing "Stateville" for the first time as a child over a dinner conversation, simply because my father had gone there that day.

* I heard about my uncle talk about meeting an old friend for lunch at the halfway point (in my uncle and father's childhood town) and then wandering around this museum, which is housed in the building my uncle and father had attended school ("Of course, it looked much smaller I than I remembered it," my uncle said with  a laugh). While there, he found a photo of the Class of 1941, which had my father in it (along with other students whose names my uncle also recalled). Yes, he took a photo of it, No, he doesn't have a smartphone, so he's unable to share it anytime soon.

* We discussed the antique model trains my uncle is rebuilding and how he plans to devote some long, focused time on them when the weather is too cold for outdoor projects.

So as you can see, cleaning the bathroom was the right choice.

And I wound up with a nice blog for today, too.

Happy Tuesday!

"Song of the Shirt" by Thomas Hood

This poem from the nineteenth century might apply to several characters in the BryonySeries novel "Before The Blood: Henry Matthews."

Theses are Henry's mother and sisters and their friend Bess Masters, who supported themselves through sewing -  and to Mrs. Cady and Mr. Langley, who gave them the work.

But this poem also applies to anyone, really, who feel as if their labors are vain and unappreciated.

On this Labor Day and beyond, may we strive to find purpose in our labors and be sure we appreciate our efforts, even if we are the only ones.

A Poem for Labor Day

"Song of the Shirt"

By Thomas Hood

First published in 1843 

With fingers weary and worn,

   With eyelids heavy and red,

A woman sat in unwomanly rags,

   Plying her needle and thread—

      Stitch! stitch! stitch!

In poverty, hunger, and dirt,

   And still with a voice of dolorous pitch

She sang the "Song of the Shirt."

   "Work! work! work!

While the cock is crowing aloof!           

   And work—work—work,

Till the stars shine through the roof!

It's O! to be a slave

   Along with the barbarous Turk,

Where woman has never a soul to save,

   If this is Christian work!

   "Work—work—work,

Till the brain begins to swim;

   Work—work—work,

Till the eyes are heavy and dim!

Seam, and gusset, and band,                  

   Band, and gusset, and seam,

Till over the buttons I fall asleep,

   And sew them on in a dream!

   "O, men, with sisters dear!

   O, men, with mothers and wives!

It is not linen you're wearing out,

   But human creatures' lives!

      Stitch—stitch—stitch,

   In poverty, hunger and dirt,    

Sewing at once, with a double thread,

   A Shroud as well as a Shirt.

   "But why do I talk of death?

   That phantom of grisly bone,

I hardly fear his terrible shape,

   It seems so like my own—

It seems so like my own,

   Because of the fasts I keep;

Oh, God! that bread should be so dear.

   And flesh and blood so cheap!

            

   "Work—work—work!

   My labour never flags;

And what are its wages? A bed of straw,

   A crust of bread—and rags.

That shattered roof—this naked floor—

   A table—a broken chair—

And a wall so blank, my shadow I thank

   For sometimes falling there!

   "Work—work—work!

   From weary chime to chime, 

Work—work—work,

   As prisoners work for crime!

Band, and gusset, and seam,

   Seam, and gusset, and band,

Till the heart is sick, and the brain benumbed,

   As well as the weary hand.

   "Work—work—work,

In the dull December light,

   And work—work—work,

When the weather is warm and bright—       

While underneath the eaves

   The brooding swallows cling

As if to show me their sunny backs

   And twit me with the spring.

   "O! but to breathe the breath

Of the cowslip and primrose sweet—

   With the sky above my head,

And the grass beneath my feet;

For only one short hour

   To feel as I used to feel,          

Before I knew the woes of want

   And the walk that costs a meal!

   "O! but for one short hour!

   A respite however brief!

No blessed leisure for Love or hope,

   But only time for grief!

A little weeping would ease my heart,

   But in their briny bed

My tears must stop, for every drop

   Hinders needle and thread!"

With fingers weary and worn,

   With eyelids heavy and red,

A woman sat in unwomanly rags,

   Plying her needle and thread—

      Stitch! stitch! stitch!

   In poverty, hunger, and dirt,

And still with a voice of dolorous pitch,—

Would that its tone could reach the Rich!—

   She sang this "Song of the Shirt!"

Illustration by Matt Coundiff for "Visage."

Slugs for a Day (NOT!)

By slight design, all members of the Core Four had Friday off work, presumbably to rest since we were working Ye Olde May Fest all weekend.

We mostly did not rest.

And that's not because we weren't tired - or because we got busy with housework. (we swore off most housework for the day).

Trust me, we were not busy with housework at all. No, it's all still waiting for us.

But you know how it goes. One thing and then another and then another and just one more thing popped up until the day ended.

Now, Friday was definitely a low-pressure day. No one was moving at top speed. We just had "stuff" to do here and there.

Still, I'm conflicted. The day off didn't happen. And now we've got all this work in the house to do.

At least half of us are working next weekend, too.

I often say that life is an adventure. Maybe the quest for a sluggish day is, too.

And life - and maybe rest, too - happens only in the moment.

You can take an entire day off from life until life is no more and all the days are gone.

This photo of two of my grandsons is six years old. The location is no longer part of our lives and one boy just graduated from high school last week.

Friday was not a sluggish day. But it wasn't a bad day. It was a productively relaxed day.

So thankful I didn't miss it.

Happy Monday!

Three Young Adults of Fine Character

So the scene you see here is the last batch of "stuff" from the tearing down of the BryonySeries tent from its presence at New Orleans North in downtown Joliet on Friday night.

The heat index was probably close to 100 degrees when we set up. And the streets were closed off early, so we parked several blocks away. It took three trips and four people to haul all of it to our spot.

When the event ended (11 p.m.) and after we tore it down, Timothy, Rebekah, and Daniel insisted that I sit with our gear while they walked back and forth to the parking deck to load it into our vehicles.

This photo is from the very last trip. I carried a small cooler over my shoulder, the most they allowed me to carry. It was the end of a long, hot day, and yet tempers weren't flaring, and these three young adults were generous and gracious in their helping.

Just so you know, their helping spirit isn't limited to me. If someone really needs help and they can help, they jump right in.

I just wanted you to see the fine character of these three young adults.

Post-Labor Day Reflection

For those who just came off a long weekend - it felt good to take time off, didn't it?

For those who worked through the weekend - I hope you get time off soon, too.

For all of us: please remember that every convenience we enjoy is the result of someone else's work.

Every single one.

We are so blessed, aren't we?

And, yes, Christmas is just around the corner...

The Goodies - Working The Line

BryonySeries Throwback Thursday: And the Cavalry Showed Up

Sunday, January 19, 2014

And the Cavalry Showed Up

For readers following my posts the last few months, you know the interesting challenges I've battled. Recently, the newspaper that accepts most of my freelance features articles was sold, and I prepared to say "good-bye" to a satisfying portion of my career.

I was hasty.

The new company hired me as the features editor for The Herald-News. I've been told about eighty percent of my job will focus on what I've already been doing, albeit no longer from an attic office with a cat sitting behind mind me (along with one sitting on my lap, another perched on my tower, and a fourth resting on top of my printer.

The other twenty percent involves learning new equipment and software (Remember, I need directions to operate a can opener) and negotiating what it means to be a salaried employee with an assistant (other than a minor child) that reports to me.

While the "congratulations" from family, friends, co-workers, and fans is much appreciated, I'm honestly feeling more stretched than exhilarated, at least right now, as I struggle to learn much unfamiliar material in a short period of time, so I can quickly regain efficiency.

However, I'd be lying if I didn't say I'm very excited about this new trail of the journey. I love my job, and I'm thrilled that I can continue the old ways while expanding on them by learning new methods to get the task done while acquiring new skills.

Becoming an employee happened at the ideal time. I graduated from my homeschool teacher status in November when my youngest turned eighteen and earned his G.E.D.

Each of my children simultaneously began new adventures in their lives, too. Truly gives new meaning to the phrase "no child left behind."

Apparently, that must mean moms, too.

'Night.

Illustration by Christopher Gleason for "Staked!" Follow him at artworkbytopher.com.

Magic Mondays

Are you a Monday person, whichever day of the week "Monday" arrives for you? (for my daughter Rebekah, that is Tuesday).

 Am I?

Honestly, some weeks I am, some weeks I'm not.

But I'm striving for the "yes" answer a hundred percent of the time.

This passage from the third chapter of  Ecclesiastes in the Old Testament provides the inspiration. I hope it inspires you today, as well.

May you all find blessings and joy in the work you do now and always.

"What do workers gain from their toil? 

"I have seen the burden God has laid on the human race. 

"He has made everything beautiful in its time. 

"He has also set eternity in the human heart; yet  no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end. 

"I know that there is nothing better for people than to be happy and to do good while they live.

"That each of them may eat and drink, and find satisfaction in all their toil — this is the gift of God."

A Poem for Labor Day

Song of the Shirt

By Thomas Hood

First published in 1843

(Dedicated to Henry Matthews' mother and sisters, their friend Bess Masters, and Mrs. Cady and Mr. Langley, who gave them work, as well as to all those who feel as if their labors are vain and unappreciated).

With fingers weary and worn,

   With eyelids heavy and red,

A woman sat in unwomanly rags,

   Plying her needle and thread—

      Stitch! stitch! stitch!

In poverty, hunger, and dirt,

   And still with a voice of dolorous pitch

She sang the "Song of the Shirt."

   "Work! work! work!

While the cock is crowing aloof!            

   And work—work—work,

Till the stars shine through the roof!

It's O! to be a slave

   Along with the barbarous Turk,

Where woman has never a soul to save,

   If this is Christian work!

   "Work—work—work,

Till the brain begins to swim;

   Work—work—work,

Till the eyes are heavy and dim!

Seam, and gusset, and band,                   

   Band, and gusset, and seam,

Till over the buttons I fall asleep,

   And sew them on in a dream!

   "O, men, with sisters dear!

   O, men, with mothers and wives!

It is not linen you're wearing out,

   But human creatures' lives!

      Stitch—stitch—stitch,

   In poverty, hunger and dirt,     

Sewing at once, with a double thread,

   A Shroud as well as a Shirt.

   "But why do I talk of death?

   That phantom of grisly bone,

I hardly fear his terrible shape,

   It seems so like my own—

It seems so like my own,

   Because of the fasts I keep;

Oh, God! that bread should be so dear.

   And flesh and blood so cheap!

             

   "Work—work—work!

   My labour never flags;

And what are its wages? A bed of straw,

   A crust of bread—and rags.

That shattered roof—this naked floor—

   A table—a broken chair—

And a wall so blank, my shadow I thank

   For sometimes falling there!

   "Work—work—work!

   From weary chime to chime,  

Work—work—work,

   As prisoners work for crime!

Band, and gusset, and seam,

   Seam, and gusset, and band,

Till the heart is sick, and the brain benumbed,

   As well as the weary hand.

   "Work—work—work,

In the dull December light,

   And work—work—work,

When the weather is warm and bright—        

While underneath the eaves

   The brooding swallows cling

As if to show me their sunny backs

   And twit me with the spring.

   "O! but to breathe the breath

Of the cowslip and primrose sweet—

   With the sky above my head,

And the grass beneath my feet;

For only one short hour

   To feel as I used to feel,           

Before I knew the woes of want

   And the walk that costs a meal!

   "O! but for one short hour!

   A respite however brief!

No blessed leisure for Love or hope,

   But only time for grief!

A little weeping would ease my heart,

   But in their briny bed

My tears must stop, for every drop

   Hinders needle and thread!"

With fingers weary and worn,

   With eyelids heavy and red,

A woman sat in unwomanly rags,

   Plying her needle and thread—

      Stitch! stitch! stitch!

   In poverty, hunger, and dirt,

And still with a voice of dolorous pitch,—

Would that its tone could reach the Rich!—

   She sang this "Song of the Shirt!"

Field Trip!

Heading out for a bit of drive before the work begins.

Nothing like a little adventure and family bonding to change up the work day.

Fortunately, I'm not driving, so it's a great time to catch up on email and social media.

Have a great Tuesday! :)

NaNoWriMo Day #8 and How Soon Before "Bryony" is Available?

Bryony Prequel, Section One, Chapter 3: Check!

Word Count: 842

Very soon, I hope!

Now that the "red tape," has HOPEFULLY been resolved (and which details, I also hope, can be shared in another blog), I'm meeting with Bryony's book designer on Friday, and we're picking through my notes in the proof copy.

Again, hopefully, we shall finish that last bit of editing (a result of over-editing at this point, but that, too, is a long story), re-upload the manuscript to the printer, find that the red tape has been finally cleared, and order (another hopefully) what should be the last proof copy.

We're targeting a Thanksgiving Day release date. Please send up prayers, well-wishes, nice thoughts, etc., that we're a go this time.

In the meantime, there's been plenty to keep me busy: the usual and customary family drama (and a few additional mountains, too), the prequel to outline, the completion of the press kit (another photo shoot tomorrow), homeschooling, and the welcoming of my third grandson.

I've set aside the editing of Visage (for now) in favor of the prequel and helping to edit Tommy Connolly's (Bryony's media researcher and developer) upcoming book: Soul Parole: Making Peace with my Mind, God, and Myself.

In the book, which is based on his blog (www.tommyconnolly.blogspot.com) Tommy candidly details his journey from life as an addict to new life as a Christian, comedian, and actor. Tommy will donate a portion of the book's profits to  go to Chicago-area addiction, homeless, and mental health centers and programs.

I also have, in various stages of beginnings or completions, two press releases about two outstanding volunteers, a press release about a new hip procedure, a story about a family's fight against polycystic kidney disease, how a youth ministry internship changes a journalism student's life, and an American Idol-type competition.

Coming up this week is a local resident's first CD, a woman who designs fashion-conscious clothing for medical patients, An Extraordinary Life piece on a man who fabricated his original jewelry, and an empath. Also, thankfully, next week's schedule is also full. Plus, I'm on the look-out for a pet story for next Tuesday.

Wish me luck!

NaNoWriMo Day#6, Some Thoughts About the Prequel Thus Far, and Another "Bryony" Moment of the Day

Prequel Chapters 4, 5, 6: Check!
Word Count: 1329
New Files Opened and Notes Made: General Research, New characters, New Places, Backstories

Alllll righty then! I'm back in the novel-writing saddle!

Despite the usual routine and two family emergencies, Bryony's prequel is on its way. I've done some terrific rough drafts on three chapters, delved into some of the history behind them (Praise God for the internet!), opened three new files of notes for further research that needs to be done, and added new info to the fourth.

Of, course, I did get behind in my "regular" work, so this morning requires some restructuring. Nevertheless, that is completely do-able (I hope).

Since the drafts of Bryony books two and three required far less historical background than the first, I'd forgotten how much fun I'd had recreating a past time. And, because this book ventures into all the back stories, there's a ton of new characters to name and enliven, all with THEIR back stories. It's an exhilarating process.

Another Bryony Moment of the Day. A book designer posted a video on my Facebook wall today. She said it reminded her of Bryony. Watch and see!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5bobskjQwWI

NaNoWriMo Day #2

Yesterday: First section, Chapter 1,  rough draft: Check!

Word Count: 1968

It's only Day two of National Novel Writing Month, and I'm already losing heart.

I overslept, so my already bursting at the seams "to do" list for today is shouting out for attention and doing a good job of squashing any fledgling good intentions of writing Chapter 2 today.

Luckily for me, yesterday, I tucked the outline I had previously written into the back of my head and allowed ideas to simmer there all afternoon and evening. At bedtime, I was still jotting ideas, so I'm not starting with am empty slate.

I'm going to do it. I'm going to write that prequel's first draft this month. Period.

The schedule is now face-down on my desk; my appointment book is closed. I'm ignoring all the frustrating red tape that's preventing the first and current Bryony book--already dressed in its glorious proof clothing--from hitting final publication. I'm posting this blog, turning off the objections, turning on the right mood music, and getting those half-germinated ideas into my computer where they belong.

Then, and only then, will I turn my attention to the rest of duties clamoring to be heard.

Nineteenth century Munsonville, here I come!

National Novel Writing Month Day #1

Last night, I made a spontaneous decision to unofficially join National Novel Writing Month.

According to Wikipedia, the internet-based event began in 1999 with just 21 participants writing a fresh 50,000 word novel between November 1 and November 30. Bloggers quickly spread news of the projects so that, by last year, over 200,000 participated in the challenge and wrote nearly three milllion words.

WOW!

Official entrants registers on the website and post daily word counts. While I'm not going quite that far, my goal is to write a skeletal chapter of the first thirty chapters of Bryony's prequel (the book has forty total) by November 30 and to (hopefully) extend the festivities until December 10th to (finally) complete a rough, working draft.

I admit that, in the past, I've pooh-poohed NaNoWriMo because of rumors that finished products were amateurish, and that might be quite possibly true. However, any first draft is bound to read thus, and since that's my objective here (It's not like I'm going to let anyone READ this early draft), I'm okay with that, this time.

Barriers to completion include grueling time constraints (Our household had been running in crisis mode all year, which is unlikely to change because of NaNoWriMo) along severe energy deficits because of it. I now also allow my inner editor to peer over my shoulder while I write, which hinders both my progress and my confidence. All editors: MARCH! (points finger to my awesome creaking, swinging door at the entrance to my office attic).

One of my accountability tools, however, is to use my own blog for daily updates and word counts. I'm also setting a one-hour time limit to complete the task. I'm not off to a very good start either. I have to leave in under an hour to take Daniel to a doctor's appointment...and I have TONS of things to accomplish before I can head over to chapter one.

Soooooo, I'm going to firm up the prequel, finish getting ready to walk out the door, and make chapter one top priority when I return, before answering voice mails, taking phone calls, checking email, getting out for my sanity walk, heeding pleas for homework help, etc. etc. etc.

(Drum roll) LET THE GAMES BEGIN!

Bryony...the Audio Book?

A couple of weeks ago, I received the following message from a Facebook friend: "I wondered if you had considered making Bryony into an audiobook? It seems like the book would translate well to audio. We can chat if you'd like more information about the process."

Hmmm....

So with Bryony still caught up in red tape, which I'm hearing should be resolved in a week or so (crossing my fingers and stepping over cracks, etc.), I agreed to meet with her this morning and listen to an interesting proposal.

Now, before she had sent that message, I had only vaguely and briefly considered an audio book format for Bryony, especially since, to be honest, I don't know many people who prefer an audio book to print. 'Course, I don't know too many people that are infatuated with eReaders, either, and I know I'll be makking Bryony available in electronic format.

So, I gathered a little background about the process of converting a book to audio and gathered a few
opinions. These ranged from disbelief that it could be complicated or timeconsuming ("What's the big deal about reading into a microphone?") to incredulity that audio books hadn't been on my agenda ("What do you think traveling sales reps read?")

This morning over coffee and hot chocolate, my friend and I discussed some initial details about the project. I, in turn, received some postive and valuable feedback about Bryony's marketing to this point and left the meeting feeling empowered that the Bryony team was on the right track.

Will there be an audio book? Well, she received my stock answer to anyone that's expressed a desire to get involved: "Read it first and then decide."

I'm sending her the release today.

This and That

Yes, a VampFest update is coming soon--tomorrow, I promise--but it's been a little crazy and somewhat fun since the time I nodded off about two o'clock Saturday morning after VampFest, so without further ado, here's a quick recap of the author's life since the pre-book launch and fundraiser:

   *  Came home to an electrical issue that became an electrical problem by morning. Praise God an electrician lives next door and quickly fixed the problem.

   *  Two of my teens had warehouse work that afternoon, which was not done on Friday, because of the fundraiser. So they went in one direction with their stepfather, and I burned up the keyboard with stories due by Monday morning.

   *  Sunday morning we took a pass on church because we had to clean the warehouse. This is usually a several hour project that takes the majority of a Sunday afternoon, but because of an event, had to be done in the morning. Missing Divine Liturgy and its accompanying sacraments is always hugely disappointing to me; the fact I caught up on filing and bills while Rebekah ran around the house with her obligations only made me feel marginally better.

   *  Packed bags for sleepover and work the next morning. As usual, when I'm trying to transfer my village for the day, I forget stuff.

   *  Spent several hours cleaning, then over to my mother's house to clean up and change clothes for Big Finale, the annual chef-created, all-dessert fundraiser for Big Brothers Big Sisters of Will and Grundy Counties. Although I had written about the Big Finale in the past, because of church obligations and financial constraints, had never attended one. This year, however, Timothy was representing Joliet Junior College with a deep-fried, taffy apple cheesecake he created; his submission won Best Dessert. Unfortunately, we missed that part, since Sarah and I had to leave early for Bryony marketing meeting. Congratulations, Timothy and Joliet Junior College!

   *  After the meeting, I returned to my mother's, where Sarah and her four year old son Lucas were staying while they were in town, for a girls night in, the first time I had spent the night under one roof with both daughters in nine years. The girls watched the Chicago Bears game with my mother while Lucas shared popcorn with me. He counted out his kernels in English and Japanese; I caught up on mail and pretended to work while really scrolling through my News Feed on Facebook. I stayed up past midnight chatting to a friend on the phone; my daughters sat up watching Sixteen and Pregnant on Sarah's laptop.

   *  A couple of hours later, Rebekah's phone alarm blared Korean pop music, and I was awake. I stumbled down the stairs through a dark house to put on coffee, check mail, and get to work. Since I'm technically handicapped (I'm not disabled; just clueless when it comes to technology), and lost when it comes to simple laptop tasks, such as adjusting my volume control, "You got mail!" boomed through the quiet house, but Sarah and Lucas, sleeping above in the loft, did not stir.

   *  I put the finishing touches on a couple of stories, enjoyed breakfast with my father, and then realized I only had the cell phone and email of my first interview. I called Ron, who sent Daniel up to the attic for my appointment book. Ron could read every phone number clearly except for the home number I needed, but he guessed it was an eight. I figured if that was wrong, "three" would probably do it, but that was incorrect, too. "Nine" wasn't much help, so I called the gentleman in question's cell phone, left a message, and did the same via email. I sent the pet picture for Tuesday's story, and my cell phone rang. It was he, and the elusive number was "five!"

   * I quickly followed up that interview with my second, checked mail, and took a brief nap, then devoured an eclectic lunch with the girls and Lucas. When I came home, the cats were highly ecstatic to see me. That could only mean one thing.

   "Daniel," I called over the radio where he was folding Joshua's clothes in the laundry room. "Did you feed the cats at noon?"

   "No," Daniel said, "calmly shaking his head and folding a T-shirt. "We're out of cat food."

   Be it ever so humble....

Cold or Allergies? Dulcinea Might Have Been Right.

Before dawn on Saturday, my publicist, Dulcinea Hawksworth, called me for an impromptu VampFest meeting. I had woken up congested, which, because I have asthma, food and seaonal allergies, and chronic hives, I attributed to something suspicious in the pizza I had eaten the previous night.

"Sounds like you've got a cold," Dulcinea said.

Forgetting also I have major throat and soft palate itching at a cold's onset, too, I insisted, "No, it's allergies."

I grew more tired as the day lengthened, and I muddled through just half of the work I had reserved for my Saturday. Far too soon, I weakly waved the white flag, showered, and went to bed, confident that an "early to bed" would mean an extra-early rising, which should be plenty of time to complete the tasks I had forsaken.

I awakened nine hours later to a sore throat and general body aches. I chastised my weakness as I fed the cats and made the coffee, and I find myself doing the same psyche-kicking this morning.

As usual, I have a full week planned, but less than a fraction of energy to accomplish it, although I'm cheering inside that my first deadline of the day has been successfully met. Well, it's early.

Today on the list: a church anniversary story to complete and follow-up phone calls for stories regarding a local sound artist, student ambassadors, parent coaching, and concussion treatment.

But first, I will pack up my "Bryony" displays, costume, makeup, and jewelry, then head over to the P. Seth Magosky Museum of Victorian Life in Joliet, where we shot the "Bryony" trailer and music video.

A digression: We are releasing the trailer on Wednesday, hurray!

At the mansion, a photographer from the Morris Herald will be taking a few pictures for an October 11 "Bryony" story. Then it's off to the warehouse, along with Rebekah and my backpack, for cleaning and writing.

Hoping the coffee kicks in soon!

On The Receiving End...Again

The August 28th entry of an author friend's blog (www.jenamorrow.blogspot.com), "Receiving Graciously 101," hit home stronger with me than anything I've recently read.

Many of us have grown up learning, "Tis Better To Give Than To Receive," and while we, in certain occasions, grumble a bit when giving is called of us (especially when it's related to a person we dislike, a distasteful task, or inconvenient timing), we are still more comfortable doing the giving than the receiving.

It's funny how God shakes that up.

Decades ago, when my oldest children were young, we were poor, "barely making the rent and relying on people sending food boxes," poor. Now I had grown up in an upper middle class home, so the concept of buying garage sales clothes or creating forty different dishes from condensed tomato soup because someone gave you a case of the stuff was foreign to me.

I remember choking down huge amounts of pride with my white bread and powdered milk until the day arrived when four items on my shopping list were packed neatly inside a box of anonymous food donations: a jar of Hellman's mayonnnaise and three child-sized Oral B toothbrushes. Only God knew I needed them, a stark reminder of who really was caring for us.

Then, a dozen years ago, ironically as a single parent, finances looked up. For the first time in my child-rearing years, I was paying all my bills on time. I had money in the bank, was remodeling my house, and didn't freak out every time a child got sick or needed a pair of shoes.

That trend continued after I married my second husband. We worked long, hard hours, but the money we made well compensated for it, enough that we invested quite a bit into our church and founding, running, and funding its youth programs.

Once the recession hit, the budget grew ugly. I thought, "I have lived through lean times. I can do this." And I cut and cut and cut until I had no place left to cut. So, instead of worrying over what I could not control, I tapped into my imagination and wrote a story that had lurked there for over twenty years, "Bryony."

A year ago, my husband lost his job and with it our health insurance. He called to tell just as I was callling him to say I was being admitted into the hospital for a yet undiagnosed disorder.

So, it's been a tough year, but for every challenge, problem, concern, crisis, emergency, we've had an unexpected blessing running parallel to it: prayers, gifts of motivational books AND chocolate, a former pastor sending monetary gifts by mail and our current pastor bring weekly bags of groceries, and new friend also going through a crisis sending a surprise gift at just the right time.

Once again pride stepped in and made the acceptance of that love hard. I shared my difficulty with my pastor, a former salesman that, when he gives a contrived compliment, I in return retort, "I don't need an insurance policy," but he is also a God-fearing man and a friend for more than thirty years. He only quietly said, "Maybe you have inspired some people along the way."

Because of the recession I wrote "Bryony," and because of "Bryony," I've learned more about writing than I ever could have gained otherwise, which sent additional paying gigs knocking at my virtual door. I've also met some kind-hearted, generous individuals that have been equally excited about the project, some of whom I know call friends.

Recently, someone volunteered some additional marketing services and a second person offered to professionally format my manuscripts, all free of charge. With the first, I'm swapping some editing for his book, but the second insists that she doesn't want to trade services; she just wants to something nice for me.

I've asked them both why they reached out to me in this fashion and both said, "Because God told me to do it." So how can I object to that?

"And this same God who takes care of me will supply all your needs from his glorious riches, which have been given to us in Christ Jesus." Philippians 4:19

Housework: The Perfect Writing Aid

Some of my best writing occurs, not at the computer, but while scrubbing out the shower, sorting socks, and washing dishes. I have no idea why the words won’t sometimes flow while sitting before the screen, but five minutes into another task and PRESTO! I’ve the perfect lede for a feature’s story or press release.

The opposite is also true when writing fiction. Most of my fiction writing happens mentally, while power walking and listening to music, driving and throwing newspapers, and again, while performing household chores. When I’m stumped, I know it’s time to sit at the keyboard and pound that scene out.

I think housework and writing, for me, are complementary they’re both inherently creative. While that might be obvious when one can hear the clacking of the keys, there is also something stirring about tackling the mountains of clutter hiding the grime (mind you, that transformation from clean to yuck can happen within hours at my house) and transforming the chaos into serenity once again.


While that might sound marvelously poetic, the real explanation is, probably, more practical. It’s simply encouraging to know that sorting the jumble of random images and phrases in my head is awfully similar to the tasks I’ve accomplished elsewhere in the house. If I can succeed in one, I can certainly fulfill the other.

Missing Midnight

No, not my adorable seven-pound black cat by the same name, but rather, my former rising time.

Since last August's surgery and subsequent hive flare-up, as well as the loss of my husband's job, my schedule has taken a subtle shift that has its pros and cons. I go to bed later and rise later (although I'm still delivering newspapers), but I'm missing the quiet, productive hours that came with greeting the new day at the stroke of midnight.

To be sure, the plusses are there. My children, now all teens and young adults, are leading more independent lives, so an early bedtime cuts shortens our dwindling time together. It also means a few helping hands for the housework (Choretime is now in the evening) which had increased proportionately after we added a few members to the house. Also, because of conflicting work schedules, some people can only be interviewed for stories in the evening, a previously impossible task when I'd hit the sack at four o'clock in the afternoon.

And yet...there was something subtly magical about the hissing of the coffee pot in quiet house, the sounds of the night floating through my office window, and the thumping of my cats as they scampered across the roof (My office is in an attic).

That was the perfect time for housework (no interruptions, and no family members making additional messes as quickly as I cleaned up), editing of the previous day's work, and writing vampire stories. Occasionally, now, I'll wake to dawn's early light with the sinking feeling I've wasted half the day.

I'm thinking there might be a way to compromise here. I just have to figure out how to do it.